


a correspondance between hell and the tomb colonies

by billtheradish



Category: Fallen London|Echo Bazaar
Genre: Other, bartering for souls, description of decay, the living dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-14 15:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billtheradish/pseuds/billtheradish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exchange of short letters between the Affectionate Devil and a player character, exiled to the Tomb Colonies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a correspondance between hell and the tomb colonies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [White Aster (white_aster)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_aster/gifts).



> This story discusses what amounts to the living (but non-zombified) dead, and the various ways they're falling apart. Not much more than happens in the game, but read with caution if that's a problem for you.

To my most treasured companion,

The Fallen City is so much bleaker without your sparkling humor and wit. I've been to the opera (Alone. I've become accustomed to your company, and the others who court me simply would not compare.) and found myself sighing at those endlessly boring declarations of love. I miss the way you'd whisper in my ear all the ways you imagined them betraying those vows and trusts in the most scintillating of ways. You know that's why I keep asking you, even though we keep returning to the same show. I simply can't get over the endless variety of ways you could layer betrayal upon betrayal realistically into such an already rich and complicated story.

You're a genius of intrigue and scandal, beloved, and I miss you.

It has been a long time since I've missed a human

in great affection, if not sincerity,  
your affectionate devil

~-~-~-~-~

To my most atrocious bore,

I remember the opera well. As I recall, it was outside its very doors that the mob congealed and forced me to flee.

As I recall, you laughed.

I understand but am still horribly injured by the slight, you brute. The least you could do is arrange to make some of those nasty whispers go away so I can come home faster, and whisper scandals in your ear again. I know you won't, but you should know that I'll hold it against you, my dear.

in annoyed fondness,  
your exiled treasure

~-~-~-~-~

To my enlightened and understanding treasure,

I know you will understand my lack of effort on your behalf, regardless of our mutual interest in your return. It is simply not in my nature. More importantly, the entire affair is so fantastically _amusing_ that I can't help but giggle whenever the subject comes up. All in all, I suppose it's for the best. You know my inclination would be to add fire to the rumors, not to smother or suppress.

You cannot expect me to act as anything other than what I am. And you don't seem to, which is for the best.

Let me know if there are some material possessions of yours that might be shifted to your betterment, though. That is something I should be able to do.

regretfully,  
your affectionate devil

~-~-~-~-~

To my devil,

I do understand your situation, I simply don't forgive you for it.

So if I were to ask you to ensure the delivery of two hundred of my tallest foxfire candle stubs to St. Fiacre's, you would see it done for me? They're packed for just such a contingency, in a box kept by my downstairs neighbor.

temptingly,  
your favorite canny soul

~-~-~-~-~

To my most obnoxious beloved,

That was rather cruel of you. Your downstairs neighbor is impressively pious and, obviously, would not let me anywhere near the candle stubs as you requested. Apparently, she had received similar instruction as to their consignment regardless, and was oddly suspicious of my motives.

Correctly so, I admit. I'm deeply wounded, nonetheless.

And it just makes me miss you all the more. What a weight upon my heart your brilliance is.

in fondness and only a small bit of retribution,  
your besotted devil

~-~-~-~-~

My most beloved fiend,

You deserved it, and your plight has lightened my spirits significantly. The thought of your face when met with her shrill preaching at the threshold was enough to get me all the way through dinner.

This is more impressive than it might sound. One of my companions at dinner was flirting most outrageously, tonight. I shall expound, because I owe you the same pleasure I derived from your torment. One of the women from the colonies here placed her hand upon my knee and pressed quite firmly against my side. Her skin was shifting beneath her bandages in places, as though decay were taking it from her as we spoke.

You would have liked her, my dear. For her wit if not her flesh. I know not the state of souls in those the colonies have taken, but if they can remain in such a horrible place then hers is well intact and sparkling with life, still.

Sadly, it's all of her that is.

most depressed,  
your treasure

~-~-~-~-~

To my treasure,

You do amuse me so. Your paramour's soul is most likely perfectly intact. It is, in fact, a likely cause of your friend's rather unfortunate condition. The richer souls hang on all the more tediously to the flesh that binds them, long past when the soul might find ease in its altar of skin. Better to let it be drawn out before one reaches that point and allows soul and body alike to fester into nothingness. Gems like that should be cherished. Treasured.

Utilized, at the absolute least. It's such a waste to watch them wither away. And for no cause. No cause at all.

Regardless, I have decided to be gladdened by your merriment at my expense. It seems I can do nothing to lessen your abysmal stay, but I have at least made it marginally less burdensome. 

Just don't do it again, I implore you.

I do intend my assistance honestly, you know. Much as it pains me to say it. It's just so horrifically complicated.

This pit is meaningless without you. Return soon, my treasure.

your affectionate devil

~-~-~-~-~

To my unhelpful devil,

The good bishop at St. Fiacre's is far more useful than you and were he more entertaining I would toss you aside from him in a heartbeat. Mine, obviously, as there are no others to measure by in this abysmal place.

Sadly, he is far too well starched in the collar to interest me, so I suppose I must remain yours. At least for the time being.

He is good for something, however. My letters inform me that the mention of my name hardly causes _anyone_ to faint from shock these days. It won't be long until I can return, and it's mostly due to our dear, sweet bishop and his unfortunate habit of...ah! Mustn't tell you, it'd be all over the cobblestones in minutes and I'd lose all my leverage. Pity.

I have another anecdote to amuse you with, however. Sadly, it's one to show how accustomed I've become to this ghastly place. You see, very near the beginning of my exile one of the colonists held a party in my honor. It was all quite alarming when someone's eye fell into my glass. I'm ashamed to say I shrieked fit to call the dogs (were there any dogs here) and threw my glass (eyeball and all) into the fire. Now I know you'll be chortling over this already, but this is not what I wished to share with you! You see, near the same thing happened again last night. Only instead of shrieking like a terrified child, I fished out the errant orb and returned it deftly to its owner.

The truly appalling thing, however, is that I finished my wine afterward. I've become far too accustomed to this place, my dear. It's high time I left it.

in decline,  
your gem

~-~-~-~-~

To my ever surprising jewel,

Drinking vitreous humours, are we? You grow closer to my heart with every passing day.

I thought of you, the other night. I've been invited to join in a hunt through the Forgotten Quarter, four days from now. I wish it had been later, as I had hoped to invite you along for the next one. Alas, it seems it isn't meant to be. I won't have your next reply until the hunt is upon us.

Next time.

ever yours (within reasonable limitations),  
your devil

~-~-~-~-~

To my ridiculous devil,

Don't be absurd. You don't have a heart.

If I am to observe one of these hunts of yours, I expect to be riding. Not afoot. (You plan them? I knew they were a sport, but I had thought the escapes at least were natural.)

I return in three day's time. You have abused me so terribly with your neglect, I shall expect you to meet me at the dock when I arrive.

yours (but not eternally)


End file.
